


A Lunch With the Great Powers

by TakisAngel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bets, Chess, Lunch, Syria, an american diner, competitions, great powers, gross food, just cold war stuff, russian tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 20:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakisAngel/pseuds/TakisAngel
Summary: England invites America and Russia to dinner after a meeting, only to find them glued to their phones. However, one comment about tea and the lunch became a  full-blown competition.Oneshot. Involves a lot of gross food. You have been warned.





	A Lunch With the Great Powers

England looked around the restaurant. To his right, sat the Russian Federation, looking at his phone. On his left sat the United States of America, looking at his phone. He let the silence hang for a couple minutes before he got irritated. He had summoned the bitter rivals here at this restaurant to fix relations, not stare at digital devices. Sighing, he started to order his drink.  
“Tea for me please.” At the mention of food, America’s head whipped up, staring at the awkwardly standing waitress and grinning.  
“Awesome! How about some sweet tea for me please!”  
“ I’ll have some coffee,” Russia said as he looked disappointedly at his menu. England flinched and all at once realized it was probably a stupid idea to bring the man into an American diner. Again the silence hung for a couple more minutes. Okay, time to start a conversation.  
“So Alfred, why did you choose sweet tea as your drink?”  
“Hmm? Oh, I freaking love the stuff, you know, southern roots and all. In fact, I could probably drink a gallon of the stuff,” he boasted.  
Desperate to keep the conversation alive, England decided to seize the topic of tea before Russia interrupted.  
“So you like sweet tea, Fredka? Your tea is probably nothing compared to the tea at my place,” said the Russian with an odd look in his eye. “It’s the sweetest tea around.”  
“Doubt that. I got the best tea commie, deal with it.” Oh god, England thought. They were about to have a competition.  
“You want to bet?”  
“Hell yeah!”  
“Miss waitress lady, my friend here would like a cup, no, a bucket, of Russian tea. Please get that for me, da?” Russia gave one of his special smiles, and the lady rushed into the kitchen with a “yes sir.”  
“Dude, we’re at an American diner. How the hell is she gonna find Russian tea?”  
“I have faith in our pretty waitress friend.” Sure enough, a couple minutes later the waitress dashed out the kitchen with a pot of tea, trembling as she put it down.  
“H-here you go, sir.”  
“Ah, thank you very much. You were right England, this place does have good service!” Because you scared the crap out of her, England thought, but wisely decided to keep the thought to himself.  
“Wow, that looks WEIRD! Like soup!” America was about to start drinking when Russia lunged for the kettle, jerking it out of America’s hands.  
“No no no, we must make sure it has enough sugar first!” Russia declared, with the odd look back in his eye. “See,” he said after taking a sip, “not nearly sweet enough!” We need to put in, let’s see, three packets?”  
“Of SUGAR?!”  
“Da, that sounds quite right.” America stared in horror as Russia gleefully poured in the sugar. “Now, all ready. That is, of course, you can’t handle it?” There it was, those four words that could make America do anything. England searched his pocket for where he kept his spare alcohol. This was going to take a while.  
“HA! Never! I can do anything!” America grabbed the kettle and poured the tea. Gulping, he threw it down his throat and try to hide his gagging. Dear GOD that’s terrible, he thought. He looked at Russia gleeful face. The sick bastard thinks he can just dare me to drink liquid sugar. See how you like this commie.  
“You know Russia, now that I’ve eaten some of your cuisines, it’s only fair that you get to eat some of mine,” America said nonchalantly. “You know, in the name of good minded diplomacy and all that.”  
Russia swallowed and glanced at America’s leering face. Uh oh.  
“In the name of diplomacy, I suppose it’s only fair,” he tried to maneuver while glancing at America’s official evil face. “However, I wouldn't want to be a bother-”  
“Nonsense! For you, it’s never a bother. Hey, waitress lady, I need an ultra large big mac shaped ham sandwich with tomatoes, mayonnaise, cheese, and jalapenos stat!” The waitress looked at America’s rapidly building evil aura and bolted into the kitchen once more.  
“Is that um, type of sandwich really necessary?” Russia gulped. He couldn’t stand spicy foods, a fact America was well aware of.  
“Make that DOUBLE jalapeno!”  
Finally, the sandwich, if it could really be called that, was plopped in front of him in all of its disgusting glory. It was easily the size of Russia’s head, with mayonnaise dripping out of it from the side. It was stuffed to the brim with jalapenos, ham, and some other mystery thing he could only hope was cheese.  
“Hey England, you were right! There is great service here!” America said as he analyzed the sandwich with a malicious eye. “Well commie, dig in! Unless, of course,” he grinned, “you can’t handle it.” England took another gulp of alcohol.  
“BA! Of course, I can handle it! It’s just a sandwich! As terrible as American cooking is, I can still eat it!”  
“Prove it then, o’ mighty one.”  
Russia looked at the dripping sandwich, and then to Alfred. Was it really worth it? He looked at the sandwich, and then back to Alfred again.  
About fifteen minutes later, the sandwich was no more, and Russia was groaning on the table in agony. England looked up from the blank plate, face white from seeing such a horror, to see Alfred snapping a picture and laughing.  
“Holy shit, you ACTUALLY did it! You ate that goddamn sandwich! I am posting this everywhere! That was sick man!”  
Russia bolted up and slammed his hands on the table, making Alfred drop his phone and cracking the wooden frame slightly. “Alright,” he spat through gritted teeth, “my turn.”  
“Um, heh, what do you have in mind?”  
“WAITRESS LADY!” Russia roared, making the waitress who had been sitting there in horror to stand at attention in fear. “I want the grossest, most disgusting, most unappealing, most mind-boggling tasteless thing you have in the diner! For my friend here.”  
“No, no DON’T LISTEN TO HIM!” America shouted, but too late, the waitress was already in the kitchen. Goddamn it. Shitty shit SHIT! I’m gonna die!  
“Nervous,” Russia snarled as they waited for the monster to come out.  
“N-not in the slightest! You forget commie, that I can eat anything! Even what, um, thing, might come out of that kitchen!”  
“Are you sure? You can always back out.” The words like a coward hung like a dead man in between them, and America said nothing as they continued to wait for the thing that would come out.  
Finally, the waitress shambled out of the kitchen with a bowl of, something, in her hands. The three men watched in horror as it was plopped onto the table and they could finally see its contents. Slimy noodles that looked like worms slithered in the bowl, and random meat looking things poking out of the soup with a red liquid dripping down. The broth was gray, and it smelled like the kind of thing you would find in a trashcan after 7 weeks of rot had set in. Green bits floated and sank periodically around the bowl, and there was a hard yellow bean-shaped thing right in the middle. Russia felt like throwing up just by looking at it. It’s perfect.  
“H-here is the most disgusting thing we have s-sir.” The waitress glanced at the three men, one who was as white as a sheet, another that had the most malicious and evil smile on his face, and the other looking considerably drunk. “Is there a-anything else you need?”  
They all waited in silence as Alfred gaped at his meal. As the waitress turned away, Alfred finally spoke.  
“WAIT!” The waitress whipped around.  
“Is there something else you need Fredka? You wouldn’t be backing out, would you?  
“No no no, I just need one more thing.”  
“And what would that be sir?”  
“Another one of these amazing meals, for my friend here.”  
“WHAT?!” Russia roared. But before he could tell the waitress to stop, she had already bolted back into the kitchen. “WHY?!”  
“Well, I thought that since I have to eat it, you do too.”  
“THAT’S NOT WHAT WE AGREED ON!”  
“Welcome to capitalism commie. How about, whoever eats this first, wins.”  
The waitress came out with the same dish and plopped it near Russia. He looked at the disgusting, gray, rotten soup and looked back at America.  
“Wins what?”  
“Um, let’s see.” Alfred drummed his fingers on the table and furrowed his brow in concentration. “Ooh, how about whoever finishes first gets Syria!”  
“Deal.”  
The two men threw themselves at the dish and began eating like wild dogs. The waitress gave a scream of terror and England continued drinking. 

Forty-five minutes later…  
“I can’t feel my toes.”  
“What day is it again?”  
“I have no clue.”  
The two full-grown adults were lying on the floor, clutching their stomach in agony.  
“I think I got food poisoning.”  
“Da, me too.”  
As they continued to groan, England stood up, thoroughly drunk and cursing himself for bringing Russia and America to the same place together. Making them behave civilized around each other was like herding cats. It was a miracle they didn’t kill someone, England thought, though I don’t think killing themselves is any better.  
“England! Shoot me, please! Death is better than this torture,” Alfred sobbed in pain. “I can’t feel my ears!”  
“No! Shoot me! My stomach had turned inside out and I can see flying rabbits!”  
“Dude, I can see them too!”  
England sighed and handed their traumatized waitress a wad of cash. “Keep the change,” he said while walking out the door.  
“Hey, England! Who won?!”  
“Da, who won?!”  
“I think it’s safe to call this one a draw.” He looked at the two superpowers groaning on the floor and started to walk out again in defeat. Where did I go wrong with that boy?  
“No! I wanted to win!”  
“Alfred, I think I’m going to throw up.”  
“Oh god me too!” The two nations rushed to the bathroom, pushing each other out of the way and throwing themselves on the toilet.  
__  
Somewhere far far away, Syria bolted up.  
“What’s wrong Syria?” Iran asked, puzzled that Syria was interrupting their chess game.  
“America and Russia just did something stupid.”  
“What else is new? C’mon it’s your turn.”


End file.
